


Don't Run

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sam, Endearments, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Requited Unrequited Love, Rimming, Spit As Lube, Top Dean, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: In which Sam tries to pack his bags, but Dean won't let him run. Not again.





	Don't Run

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:  
> hey so I love how the 1st time always happens between the boys and 90% of the time Dean freaks out the next day, feels guilty and Sam tries to calm him down.  
> I'd like to see the reverse- Sam freaks out and Dean is the calm one and of course over-confident bastard (knowing smirk) smart-mouth wit.

Sam loved the little nook under the Men of Letters stairs. He had moved a big squishy bean bag into the corner as soon as he could, and he argued for it by telling Dean that nothing could sneak up on him from his vantage point. Of course it also meant he got to watch Dean surreptitiously, but that was just an added bonus.

Watching Dean had become an art form. Sam did it worriedly, when Dean was injured. He did it with annoyance, when Dean ate loudly. He exchanged quick glances when interviewing, and longer ones when silently communicating before a fight. But there were other ways of watching, too. Ways that Dean didn’t know about. Ways that made Sam pretty glad that mind reading was impossible.

Most of the time, Sam watched Dean sneakily. When Dean was doing research, or washing the car, or working up a sweat in the bunker’s gym. Sam would watch over the top of his laptop, or else make an excuse to walk past an open door. Dean was oblivious, and Sam both dreaded and hoped for the day when he finally clued in.

The fact was that Sam couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t watched his older brother. He was fairly sure that as a kid he’d only watched with with adoration, but he also remembered walking in on Dean making out with Stacey Sinclaire behind the locker room, and the dual punch of jealousy and arousal had almost knocked him over. That was the night that he’d first googled Stanford. His heart had knocked silly patterns against his ribcage, telling him to stay and fight for what was his, but his brain whispered _Run. Run as far and as fast as you can and never look back. Don’t let them see what you are. Don’t let Dad find out. Don’t let Dean see._  And so he’d packed his bags and closed his heart and cut the cord.

Except now he was back, and Dad was gone but Dean was still here. The world was always almost falling out from under their feet, and there were angels and demons and witches and monsters at every corner, and in the midst of all the dying and almost dying Sam found he still knew how to watch. Dean was the North Pole and Sam’s eyes were nothing but magnets, following the movements of a body he knew better than his own.

So it was really no surprise that he found every opportunity that he could to have Dean near, even if it was only for a moment. Even if Dean came close for no reason other than brotherhood. Even though Sam knew there could never be anything more.

“Hey, what do you think of these carvings?” Sam asked, holding up a tiny amulet.

Dean grabbed two beers on his way over, cracking one open for Sam before leaning down to scrutinise the amulet. “Looks like hocus to me. Look, the three-ray protection sun has four freaking rays! Some peddler probably sold it to a tourist to protect them from credit card fraud.”

“What about this one?” Sam pointed at another sigil, forcing Dean to bend even closer. Sam eyed the line of his throat. He felt himself starting to get hard, but the laptop was covering anything that might have given him away.

“Bupkiss, Sammy. Sorry.”

Dean straightened, preparing to tip his head back for a swig of beer.

“No! Wait!” Sam cried, but it was too late. Dean was still under the staircase, and as he leaned back he cracked his head on the metal underside, and folded promptly over the top of Sam, the beer smashing next to him.

“Shit!” Sam found himself stuck awkwardly over the bean bag, his face pressed against Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t want to roll a potentially injured Dean off him, but was also unable to get a good look at his brother while stuck beneath him. He yanked the laptop out from between them and quickly dumped it away from the spreading stain of beer. “Dean!” he called, using his free hand to probe the back of Dean’s head. He couldn’t feel any blood.

Dean groaned, and Sam sighed in relief. He hadn’t been knocked out, just knocked silly.

“Get off, idiot. I’ll get some ice.”

Dean just groaned again, and made a minor attempt at getting up, which only served to push himself (and Sam) further into the bean bag. Sam’s nose was now against Dean’s throat, and it was simple muscle memory from thousands of wet dreams that had him breathing deep. The smell of spilled beer was completely erased by the sweat on Dean’s skin. It was nothing at all to slide a tongue along that muscle and-

“Sam?”

“Oh, _shit_!” Sam shoved at Dean, trying to get him off. His erection was now visibly pressed up against his jeans and there was just no _way_  Dean hadn’t felt that against his hip.

The thought of his erection against Dean’s hip did not help at all.

“Sam? Wha-”

“Get _off!_ ” Sam pushed, hard, and wrenched himself free of Dean’s body. Unlike his brother, he managed to avoid the bottom of the staircase, and then he was hurtling down the hall toward his room.

“Sam!”

Sam didn’t pause. He slammed the door shut between them and propped a chair beneath the handle. He started stuffing clothes into a duffel. He couldn’t take the time to think because if he did he’d probably lose his mind. He didn’t want to imagine Dean’s face. He didn’t want to see it, either. He wanted his last memory of Dean’s face to be a happy one, not the one full of disgust and horror that would surely be waiting for him outside his room.

He wiped fitfully at his cheeks, unable to stop the tears. Dean had seen. Dean had seen. Worse than that, Dean had _felt_  how disgusting Sam was; how he was turned on by the weight of his brother’s body. He sobbed, once, and yanked a jacket off it’s coat-hanger.

“Sam?” There was a tentative knock at the door. Sam ignored it. “Open up, man.” The handle turned, but the chair stood fast. “Come on, Sam. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“Just... just go away!”

“You know I can’t do that, man. Open up.”

“Just give me thirty minutes, Dean. Then you’ll never have to see me again.”

There was a pause.

“I’ll never have to _what?_ ”

Sam sobbed again, and threw a toothbrush into the bag.

“Sam! You better not be packing a bag in there!”

Another pause.

“Seriously, man. Everything’s okay. I’m okay. Just come out so we can talk. Sam? Come on, buddy, open the door.”

“ _Go away!_ ”

“I hit my head pretty hard, Sam. I’m starting to get dizzy... S-Sam?”

There was a sliding sound and a soft thump, as though Dean had been leaning against the wall and had just fallen down. Sam wavered, but didn’t move the chair, calling Dean’s bluff. After a moment, Dean’s voice called out again, and this time he sounded angry.

“Okay, fine. You want to run off again, you do that. Reckon Stanford’ll take you back after all this time? That’s where you ran last time, wasn’t it? Well hey, don’t let me stop you. In fact, why don’t we speed up the process. Open the door, Sam. I’ll pack for you and you can hit the road in five.”

Sam’s heart squeezed painfully. Dean wanted him gone. Dean wanted him gone _now_. He moved the chair, and opened the door.

Dean stormed in, glowering, and though he wasn’t glowering directly at Sam, his expression was so insanely mad that Sam already felt himself crumpling from within.

“Dean,” he said, small and pitiful. “Dean I’m so, so sorry.”

Dean grabbed for his duffel, which was lying on the bed, and wrenched it so violently that shirts and socks went flying. Then he grabbed Sam by the wrist and, dazed, Sam let himself get thrown onto the newly empty mattress. Dean was on him in a second and even with the fresh memory of discovery, Sam couldn’t help but respond. He rolled his hips away desperately, trying to keep Dean from his disgusting body, but Dean held him by the wrists and lay on top of him fully so Sam could do little more than wriggle. He tried fighting back anyway, Dad’s lessons kicking in even now, but then he caught a glimpse of Dean’s face - focused and furious - and he burst into sudden and violent tears.

Dean stilled above him, but didn’t let go, letting him get everything out. Sam sobbed and sobbed, great big tears rolling unchecked down his face to drop onto the mattress. He turned his face to the side, and stared at the photo on his bedside table. It was a picture of him and Dean from years ago. Before hell and heaven and Dad. They looked happy.

“Dean, I-I'm so sorry,” he choked.

Dean was making soft sounds into Sam’s ear. Little hushing noises and soothing whispers.

“I never wanted you to know,” Sam moaned.

“I always knew,” Dean whispered back, and then he pressed a warm tongue to Sam’s cheek, and licked away the drop of one tear. “Always knew, Sammy. Knew you _wanted_  but would never _take_. Waited years for you, little brother.” He pressed his gentle lips to one eyelid.

Something was happening inside Sam. A war of emotions was waging in his skull and chest. Fear was winning, but there were other feelings, too. Betrayal. Lust. Adoration. And a nameless _something_  that was sending shivery sparks down his spine. He pulled against Dean’s hold, afraid and desperately turned on.

“Dean, I... You don’t want this. Please, please I’ll just... I’ll go.”

Dean hummed a negative against the shell of his ear, and Sam went limp.

“Not this time, Sam. You’re not going anywhere. The running is over.”

“Please, I’m... You’re making me... I know you don’t want this...”

“I think I’ll be the one to decide what I do and don’t want, little brother.” Then Dean’s body rolled, once, starting at the chest and finishing at their tangled legs, and _woah_ , was that Dean? Something hard was pressing into Sam’s thigh.

Sam tried to say something. Probably his brother’s name, or maybe a caution, or hell maybe Shakespeare’s 20th Sonnet, but then Dean pressed his lips into Sam’s skin again, and his throat refused to work. Dean pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose, the corner of one eye, the sensitive shell of his ear, then down along his jaw and one part of Sam’s brain knew what was next but that part was mostly offline so it was still a surprise when Dean’s lips reached Sam’s, and suddenly they were kissing.

Sam forgot about his erection, forgot that Dean was holding him down. He forgot his name and his packed duffel and his plans of escape. His brother was kissing him, and there was nothing, _nothing_ , in the whole world that would ever amount to anything after this. Sam surged upward and what had started as a soft touch quickly became hotter. There was no finesse. Sam’s mouth had gone instantly wide against Dean’s, his tongue searching of it’s own volition the soft heat of that unknown terrain. He licked Dean’s lips, and sucked at Dean’s tongue, and when Dean tried to lean back he licked across the roof of Dean’s mouth and then pulled against his teeth, forcing Dean closer.

There was nothing in Sam’s head. No concept of time or place, but when he opened his eyes and met Dean’s gaze a single word floated into his consciousness; _green_. And then, inexplicably,  _An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling_. He blinked, and realised he was half off the bed. He had apparently followed Dean up into a sitting position, chasing the warmth of his mouth. He blushed, hard, and pulled a hand out from Dean’s hold. Now Dean really knew how far he’d fallen. He put a hand on Dean’s chest, presumably to push Dean off him, but forgot what he was doing when he looked down and saw the twin erections straining at their jeans.

Dean smirked, and pushed Sam back down. “You love me touching you,” he said.

“I love _you_ ,” Sam clarified, and there. It was out there. That final, disgusting word hanging between them. Dean stilled, staring at Sam without expression, scanning his eyes for the lie that wasn’t there.

“I know,” he said eventually, and then he dipped forward to press his lips to Sam’s again. Sam’s heart floated a foot above the bed in ecstasy, but Dean didn’t let the kiss deepen. “If I let you go, will you run?” he asked.

Sam shivered. “No,” he whispered.

Dean let go of his wrists, and started unbuttoning Sam’s shirt. Sam didn’t know what to do with his hands so he carded his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean winced and pulled away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam said, immediately horrified. Dean didn’t want to be touched.

“No, it’s okay just... watch the bruise, man.”

Oh yeah, of course. From the staircase. Sam raised his hands again, tentative, and Dean smirked down at him.

“You can touch,” he said, a corner of his mouth twitching up.

Sam went for his shirt, yanking it over Dean’s head and ignoring the protest. He impatiently helped Dean yank his own shirt off, and then it was skin on skin. Now that he had permission to touch he never wanted to stop. Dean’s strong arms, the ridges of his chest, the tattoo stark against his skin. Sam wanted all of it. He mapped the planes of Dean’s body, learning with his hands what he had already memorised with his eyes.

He was so consumed with Dean’s body that he almost didn’t notice as he was divested of his pants and boxers, but then Dean wrapped a hand around his painfully hard erection and _that_  he did notice. He melted back onto the bed, focus pinpointing to the feel of Dean’s fingers as they slid along his length.

Someone was calling his name.

“Sam! Hey, you with me?”

Sam moaned, and hoped that was enough of a response. There was a dark chuckle.

“What do you want, gorgeous?”

“E-Everything.”

Dean chuckled again, and then crawled up Sam’s body to look him in the eye. “Pay attention,” he ordered, and Sam tried to draw at least some of his mental faculties away from his dick, which was not happy about the loss of Dean’s hand, but was exceedingly aware of the proximity of Dean’s dick, separated only by the denim of Dean’s pants.

“Tell me what you want, Sam.”

There was only one answer. “I want you.”

“What if I licked you open. Would you like that?”

Sam did a full body shiver, thinking of Dean’s tongue inside him.

“Yes,” he replied in a voice that sounded dazed even to his own ears.

“Okay, what if I lick you open,” his voice got darker, “and when you’re wet and loose I’ll slide inside you and fuck you into this mattress.”

“Yes!” Sam whimpered, writhing. “Yes! I want that!”

“Do you usually bottom?”

Sam stared at him in confusion.

“You have done this before, right?”

Sam blushed, and turned away.

“Wait, Sam, look at me... You have done this before, right?”

Sam shook his head minutely. He kept getting distracted by the feel of denim on his dick.

“Jesus, Sammy. I thought for sure... Even at Stanford?”

Sam shook his head again. “Only wanted you.”

Dean speared his fingers into Sam’s hair and kissed him, hard. Sam tried to push back but Dean was holding him in place by his hair, and Sam could do nothing under the onslaught of Dean’s tongue and teeth. Dean bit at his lips and then licked across them, and then delved straight into Sam’s mouth, claiming him. Sam moaned, the sound getting eaten up by Dean’s body. His whole body was afire with the weight of Dean against him, and he ground his hips upward, seeking friction. Dean realised what he was doing and pulled back. His lips were red and bruised, but they were pulled into his characteristic smirk as he moved his hips away from Sam’s.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, grinning evilly. “You’ve never been fucked before, and I’m going to show you how good it can be.”

“Hurry up!”

“Not today, princess. Today you’re mine.”

“You’re mine too,” Sam countered.

Dean blinked at him, then smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I’m yours too.” He leaned down for a single chaste kiss, ignoring Sam’s attempts to deepen it, then slid the length of the bed to rest between Sam’s legs. “Roll over,” he ordered. Sam rolled onto his belly, and let Dean position a pillow beneath his hips. He realised that he was now completely vulnerable, but some part of him thrilled at the position, and he spread his knees wider. Dean moaned in appreciation behind him.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Do something!” Sam replied, wriggling against empty air. Dean chuckled, and put his hands on Sam’s hips to still him. Then Sam felt him repositioning between his knees, and hot breath washed over him. Sam’s breaths were coming in short gasps. He was scared, but mostly it was the anticipation that was making him crazy. He trusted Dean, always had, and even now he knew Dean would take care of him. Dean’s hands slid up slightly, to grip his ass, and then his cheeks were being pulled apart and something soft and wet and _hot_  was probing against him.

“Dean!” Sam choked. He tried to push back but Dean’s hands kept him steady. Sam keened as Dean licked, and then stopped breathing completely when Dean’s tongue starting _pushing_ , and slid into him. The feeling was... electric. Dirty and wrong but also incredibly hot. Sam could feel it _inside_  him, moving. Sam started panting, and he was aware that he was chanting Dean’s name but he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried. His focus zeroed in on Dean’s tongue, and hands, and the slippery electricity shooting sparks through his limbs.

“Roll over,” Dean said again, a million years later and from across an ocean. Sam felt like jelly as he flopped sideways, his limbs failing to cooperate. Dean positioned his legs so his feet were flat on the bed, knees bent.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” Sam asked breathlessly, not at all embarrassed that his question had come out like a plea.

“Soon, little brother.” Dean’s voice was rough-edged and Sam could barely control the way his body jerked at the sound.

“This might hurt, since it’s your first time,” Dean cautioned, but Sam decided not to believe him because he couldn’t even fathom the idea of something hurting right now. Not when his whole body was alight with pleasure.

Sam looked down the length of his body in time to see Dean’s shining pink lips descend, and then his neglected dick was engulfed by the wet heat of Dean’s mouth.

Sam had thought he loved kissing Dean, but he now discovered the number one thing he wanted Dean’s mouth doing for the rest of his life. “Oh!” he moaned. “Oh, Dean, _oh my god_.”

Dean grinned, his lips just holding the head of Sam’s dick, and then he slid down in one hot slide at the same time as a sneaky finger pushed into Sam. Sam bucked, unsure if he was bucking _into_  Dean or _away_  from his finger. It didn’t hurt, not really, not with Dean’s mouth sucking gentle patterns into his erection. The finger pulled out, and pushed back in, and all the while Dean sucked lazily, mouthing at his head. The finger stopped feeling _weird_ , and starting feeling _sofuckinggood_ , and then Dean swallowed him whole again as a second finger joined the first. It should have hurt as well but Sam couldn’t even focus on any pain when Dean’s mouth was on him. Again Sam felt himself relax and again Dean swallowed him down to push a third finger in. This time Sam did wince, but Dean licked against the underside of his dick and the pain was gone.

Dean twisted the fingers inside him, spreading them experimentally. It burned, but in a good way, and Sam gasped.

“Is... is that my prostate?” he asked, curious.

Dean laughed, and the vibrations caught on Sam’s hard flesh and made him shiver. Dean pulled off, and Sam whined at the loss.

“No,” Dean smirked, “I haven’t touched your prostate yet. I don’t want you losing control until I’m inside you.” He spread his fingers inside Sam.

Sam didn’t know what expression he made. Probably a mixture of hope and excitement and fear.

“Oh, alright. Needy.” Dean twisted again, and his fingers slid against _something_ that made Sam arch off the bed. His vision went white for a second, and when he looked down again Dean was doing his smug little smile like he was a fucking god.

Honestly, Sam was inclined to agree with him.

That is, until Dean slid his fingers out and Sam was suddenly inclined to get very upset.

“Hey!” he yelped in indignation.

Dean’s smug grin was still on. “So desperate for it,” he said. “Are you ready?”

Dean crawled up Sam’s body until they were face to face, and braced himself on his elbows. There was a gentle nudging between Sam’s legs and he felt himself go still. _Was_  he ready? 

“Sam? You with me?”

“Wait, wait, just... gimme a second,” Sam squeaked.

“All the time in the world,” Dean growled, and bent to suck bruises into Sam’s neck.

Sam arched into Dean’s mouth, trying to arrange his thoughts. What was he waiting for? Was he scared it would hurt? Of course not. This was Dean. Dean was as incapable of hurting him as he was of Dean.

“Talk to me,” Dean mouthed into his neck.

“I’m scared.”

“I’m not going anywhere, gorgeous. I’m right here with you. Always have been. Always will be.”

“Don’t... You can’t... What if...”

“Shh, beautiful. Shh. It’s okay. Anything you want.”

“I want _you_ ,” Sam gasped, hoping Dean would understand. He was scared, but only of losing Dean. He was scared of this new thing between them, that Dean would look up and realise and never look at Sam again.

Dean did look up, but it was with tenderness and joy, an expression Sam saw so rarely on his brother’s face.

“So perfect, Sam. You’re all I’ll ever want.” He leaned down, kissed the joint of Sam’s jaw, then whispered into his ear. “Love you, Sam. Forever. Always.”

Something expanded in Sam’s chest, and he felt his eyes stinging again.

“Fuck me,” he begged. “Make me yours.”

“The first.”

“The only.”

“Are you sure, Sam? Are you ready?”

Sam nodded, incapable of any higher form of communication.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, and then he pushed in.

It was different, and better, and _fuller_. Dean slid in with no resistance, slicked the whole way by spit and sweat and nothing else. He went slow, so Sam could feel every inch, and whispered to Sam as he did, grounding him in reality.

“So beautiful, Sam. So good for me. _God_ , Sam, I’ve wanted this so long. Wanted  _you_. So perfect. Everything, Sam. Everything is yours. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. So perfect.”

When he was fully seated inside, he whispered directly into Sam’s ear.

“You can breathe now,” he said, and Sam did, gasping for a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

They stared at each other, unmoving, while Sam’s heart rate slowed. _Dean is inside me_ , he thought to himself. _Dean Winchester, my brother, is inside me_. And then, because his brain sometimes liked clarification, _Dean Winchester, heaven’s chosen, world’s saviour,_ my brother _, is inside me_.

Dean leaned down, and Sam didn’t realise he had been crying until he felt Dean’s lips kiss away a hot tear.

“Hey,” he said, still not moving inside Sam. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m never letting you go again, gorgeous. You are _so_ perfect, Sammy.”

The childhood nickname broke the spell, and Sam jerked against Dean’s body, simultaneously trying to push down onto him and reach up for him.

They fucked quickly, neither of them capable of holding on for too long. Dean rocked into him methodically, letting Sam get adjusted before picking up the tempo and bringing them both to the edge. Sam put a hand over the tattoo on Dean’s chest, feeling the sweat and hot skin, and Dean shoved hard against that spot inside him that made him see stars, and he arched as he came, spilling untouched onto his chest while Dean shuddered and spilled inside him.

Sam was incapable of talking, but his vocal chords had no problem with yelling, and it was Dean’s name that he called as his vision went dark and he collapsed backward, whole and full and sated.

When he opened his eyes a minute or an hour later, Dean was lazily kissing his jaw. Sam wriggled, and felt Dean inside him still. He thought he might feel gross pretty soon, but for now there wasn’t much that could make him move.

“How long have you...” he began.

“Wanted you since we were kids,” came Dean’s reply, muffled against his throat. “You’re not gonna zoom off to college this time though, are ya?”

Sam hummed in contentment. “I thought I was so disgusting, Dean. That what I felt was so wrong.”

“You’re gorgeous, Sammy. We wasted years apart but I’ve got you now.”

“I’ve got _you_ ,” Sam clarified, and he wrapped his arms around Dean, tightening.

“If I knew all it would take was a little concussion I would have hit my head years ago.”

Sam laughed. His room was covered in socks and shirts and a toothbrush was upside down in one boot, but he nuzzled into Dean and didn’t plan on moving for the rest of his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I think the MOL bunker needs a gym, and I plan on putting a gym into every MOL fic I do from now on, in the hopes that it will catch on and eventually become an actual thing. (Hear that, Kripke?)
> 
> If you were wondering, Sam’s nook is [here](https://au.pinterest.com/pin/219339444325324611/), under the staircase :)
> 
> Sonnet 20 is considered Shakespeare’s ‘gayest’. That is, it’s the one where he most obviously is addressing a male. The sonnet is basically “Well nature made you to love women, but women aren’t as good, and I love you so hey nature can go fuck itself.” And if that isn’t the most romantic shit then I don’t know what is. The line “An eye more bright than theirs” is basically saying Willy’s lover is more beautiful and less false than all those boring women throwing themselves at him. I hear ya Willy. Heterosexual poetry? Who wants it.
> 
> This isn't my usual writing style, but I couldn't resist. This is a fill for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/114683.html?thread=42123259#t42123259) prompt on spn kink meme


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